


Arrival

by FrostbitePanda



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 'take this deleted scene of your faves that doesn't make sense! go! fetch!', F/M, Gen, Maybe - Freeform, Missing Scene, One shot?, Short, anyway, drabble shot, drabble?, give me your clown wigs D&D, i guess, idk - Freeform, in response to a certain deleted scene, in which they make my boy a moron, like the delta helpdesk from that John Mulaney bit, my boy is not a moron, salt fic, season 8 AU, season 8? i don't know her, spit at my girl one more time i dare you, spite is my number one creative motivator it looks like, stfu, strong rebuke, that horrendous deleted scene that they gave us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostbitePanda/pseuds/FrostbitePanda
Summary: He had long ago resigned himself to a grim reality. That the North would already be sharpening their knives and licking their chops for him the moment he had penned the raven to Sansa announcing his fealty to Daenerys almost a month ago. He was less prepared for his people’s treatment of Daenerys— a woman who had come to admire and respect deeply, who had earned his trust ten fold.It perhaps didn’t help that he was in love with her.(in which Jon Snow actually does something in character.)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 61
Kudos: 266





	Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> come on down and get your 100% certified Frosty goodness canon reversal eye salt. Use liberally and as often as you like.

The convoy came to a slow, lurching halt. Hooves squelched in mud, horses whickered, shield and spear clattered as thousands and thousands of feet stopped before the gates of Winterfell. 

Jon felt discomfited as he dismounted, made for Daenerys’ saddle and helped her down from her own. He made very sure to draw his hands away immediately, though they yearned to linger there under her cloak and gather some of her dragon’s warmth for himself. It was eerily quiet. 

She settled into the frosty mud beside him, brushing off her coat, and looked upon his home from this new vantage— only some five paces away and not from the back of a horse. Or a dragon. 

As she took it in, he looked at her, gauging her reaction. He watched as her eyes took in the fresh timber of the rebuilt gate, swung open to receive them. 

All emotion was locked away, only a bland, if serene, smile gracing her face. 

She was as nervous as he was. 

They had talked endlessly on the road. She had pelted him with questions— some were of the political nature, exposing her ignorance of the North but also betraying her great interest in learning about it. But most were undoubtedly personal, queries that any lover would make to their partner if they desired to know them better. He had tried to answer as truthfully as he could. He was not the most articulate of people. 

He felt something in his stomach twist, a leaden weight grow in his throat as he tore his eyes from her to look upon the familiar white stones of the only home he had ever really known. For weeks, alone and restless within the musty halls of Dragonstone, he had wanted little else save for the comfort of Winterfell and its peculiar brand of brutal coziness. 

But he realized, now, at the worst possible time, that Winterfell was no longer his home. 

He was prevented from thinking on it any further with the approach of his captains. 

He instantly felt his muscles tense, his sword hand twitch. The men had been hastily appointed. Northmen he hardly knew, chosen primarily by Sansa to curry favor with his new subjects. They did little to lift his unease, as the stalked up to him and Daenerys, bowing shallowly to him in applied deference, obviously done with him already. They cast dark glances Daenerys’ way, but barely acknowledged her otherwise. 

Jon felt his nerves prickle in indignation. He had warned Daenerys, had told her again and again that Northers were a prickly bunch, fickle as weather vanes and, for all their talk of loyalty and honor, they often saw no further than their own doorposts when it came to matters of the world. But as much as he had been preparing her for her cold reception, he had neglected how their behavior would affect him. 

He had long ago resigned himself to a grim reality. That the North would already be sharpening their knives and licking their chops for him the moment he had penned the raven to Sansa announcing his fealty to Daenerys almost a month ago. He was less prepared for his people’s treatment of Daenerys— a woman who had come to admire and respect deeply, who had earned his trust ten fold. 

It perhaps didn’t help that he was in love with her. 

“My lords,” he greeted stiffly. “Glad to see the place didn’t burn down while I was gone.” 

His captains simply stared back at him, one in the back actually grumbled, annoyed. Another laughed sourly with a pointed, hateful look to the woman standing next to him. 

Poor choice of words, Jon surmised. 

He exchanged a quick glance with Daenerys before clearing his throat and indicating her with a hand. 

“My lords, may I introduce Daenerys Targaryen?” 

They had agreed that any meetings and introductions conducted by him to his various captains and lords and sundry would be short and simple. No use in rankling men who were already properly rankled with long, tedious titles, no matter how impressive and well-earned. 

One of his captains snorted, another nodded, though he looked close to swearing, teeth clamped together in a scowl. 

Daenerys smiled, as warmly as she could, considering. “My lords—“ 

She was stopped short, as a fat, viscous glob of spittle landed clean between her boots. 

There was a small beat of silence, as Daenerys looked between her feet, dazed, and Jon’s eyes zeroed in on the offender like a hawk spotting a field mouse. 

To his credit, the man (Rhett, Jon believed his name was) quailed, but it was too late for the poor bastard. Jon marched forward, his vision nearly whiting out in anger, and grabbed the man by the front of his chest plate, hooking his fingers under the collar. Jon pulled, _hard_ , and sent his booted foot straight into the side of the man’s knee. 

The man wailed, his patella crushed under the force of Jon’s kick, and crumpled to the muddy ground. He shouted in agony, writhing in the slush like a wounded animal. 

It was very unkingly of him, but Jon spat upon his despairing victim. 

“Very funny joke, Commander Rhett,” Jon snarled as he stalked away from the man’s prone, whimpering form. “But I’ve heard it before.”

The other captains had stepped back, clearing a path for him, now looking sufficiently cowed. Daenerys’ expression was unreadable and very… constructed. 

Whatever her thoughts on the matter, no matter how his people treated him, he didn’t really care at that moment. He had never wanted to be a king, so asserting his authority had never been something he had overly concerned himself with. But Daenerys was here at great risk to herself and her mission, with little reward to be had to boot— all for these ungrateful cretins he called his people, and he would ensure that they would at least _pretend_ to give her the respect she sorely deserved. 

It never hurt that it just felt fucking good, protecting his lover from insults, no matter how… overblown his reaction might have been. 

“Now, my lords, you are dismissed. See that Queen Daenerys’ people receive every last need and courtesy they require,” They all nodded mutely, almost tripping over their own feet to get away from him. He grabbed one by the arm as they passed by. “Take Rhett to the infirmary, the poor bastard.” 

The man nodded, face white, and went to gather his fallen comrade. 

Jon looked back to Daenerys, and her features were not quite so schooled, her eyebrows raised, her mouth fighting a wicked smile that had his blood racing. “My hero,” she drawled quietly, teasing... but undeniably appreciative. 

He barked a laugh. If there was one woman who did not need saving, with was the woman beside him. He offered his arm and she took it as they made their way through the gates.

He grinned a bit at himself, some of his fury falling away as he caught sight of his sister waiting for them at the base of the stair in the yard— a paltry welcome party for the Mother of Dragons. Sansa’s cold demeanor and stature did nothing to assuage his worries that Rhett was just the beginning of a long line of cravens and mewling boys that Jon would have to put in their place. 

Daenerys might not need saving, but it wouldn’t stop him from trying. 

**Author's Note:**

> i think that we can all agree that season 8 can go fuck itself forever, especially with the heinous addition of dumbly guffawing Jon Snow in the face of one of his own men spitting at the woman he loves, never mind his new ally. fuck's sake. 
> 
> anyway-- i finally have a new, better job. i finally am settling into some semblance of a... i don't know... normal schedule? regular life? at any rate, i celebrated by sitting odwn to write this evening, and this little gem really got my Jonerys juices ~~(gross)~~ flowing. actual updates to worthwhile WIPs to follow. 
> 
> hope y'all enjoy. 
> 
> (y'alls constant patience and support means more to me than i can say. all i can really articulate right now is-- shit is finally getting better for me, so here's to that, at least. writing can only make it all the more awesome for me, in the end.) 
> 
> PS: also, i'm trying out a new writing app. hope the formatting is okay. let me know! (and visit me @frostbitepandaaaaa on tumblr!)


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